


putting the "romance" in bromance

by ticklesdead



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklesdead/pseuds/ticklesdead
Summary: badly written one-shots/headcanons for everyone's favourite fictional lib dem and his advisor. rated t+ for language but it's not going to be a problem if you've watched the show. also there's very minimal punctuation. i wrote these all either at 3am or whilst inebriated. enjoy xx
Relationships: Adam Kenyon/Fergus Williams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	1. fergus can't cook but also he can?

**Author's Note:**

> lmao this is very short and also makes very little narrative sense. enjoy tho

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Fergus Williams can't cook for shit. Well - he can cook one meal very fucking well and that's it. This is because his mother refused to let him leave home without knowing at least one meal, in her words "to impress a girl" (the irony of this statement was not lost on 18-year-old Fergus). In his whole adult life, Fergus has never once cooked his mother's recipe (or indeed any other recipe), until he meets Adam. It takes him approximately 5 seconds to realise that this man is something special, so Fergus comes up with this plan that the first time he plucks up the courage to have Adam round for dinner he’s going to cook it and make the man fall in love with him. The problem with the recipe is that it's something complicated and posh like bouillabaisse, and the first time Adam does end up coming round to Fergus' little flat, it's 1am and they have a 9am deadline. Even so, Fergus has this feeling in his stomach, when they're standing squashed together on the Tube and he's focusing on keeping his hand a heterosexual distance away from Adam's, that he has to make some kind of effort for this man. So cooking it is, and he's just making a mental ingredients list as the bus jolts to a halt, and Fergus is flung off-balance, straight into Adam's back. Adam swears loudly and Fergus goes bright red, apologising profusely to the old lady next to them and hoping she isn't in his constituency.

"You'd better have some fucking food in Fergs, I'm not spending all night in Zone bloody Two working on another of Stewart's master-plans without some pissing calories."

"I can probably whip something up," Fergus says far too casually for his own personality, "I'll see what's in the cupboard."

From this, Adam assumes he'll be getting beans on toast, or something equally as easy. He's kind of touched, and he's a bit too excited to find out what Fergus' flat looks like. Purely for advisory reasons - he can't have his advisee living like a slob or anything. He brushes his interest off as his old journalistic streak, and tries not to think about how if this were anyone else, going back to a flat and getting dinner made for him would count as a first date. When they eventually get to Fergus' flat, it's almost 1am and they're both just about ready to pass out. Fergus immediately goes to the kitchen, silently buzzing at the opportunity to cook for Adam, who busies himself loading up PDFs and getting out folders, while sneakily scanning through Fergus' DVD collection. _Pretty basic,_ he thinks to himself, looking through the shelf of spy films and box sets of things like The Sopranos. His eye catches on a Davina McCall workout DVD still in its cellophane and he snorts, trying to imagine what on earth presumably Fergus' mother was thinking when she presented her son with such a thing. He's tempted to get it out and take the piss, chuckling at the thought of Fergus's ever-present blush going even redder. He's distracted, however, by the fact that it's been a good 15 fucking minutes since Fergus disappeared into the kitchen, and he's yet to return with anything resembling nutrition. So when Adam wanders into the kitchen in search of where the fuck Fergus has got to and sees him fannying around with fish fillets, he’s ready to ask him what the fuck he’s doing. He stops himself, however, when he notices the tea towel over Fergus’ shoulder and the stupid pop song he’s humming as he splashes sauce everywhere. Adam smiles to himself, leaning in the doorway, and tries not to think about how this is the man he’s going to marry.


	2. dancing in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a long rambling thing that's just adam being horny and grumpy (mood) and fergus being an idiot (also mood). whoever wrote that one fic about them dancing in the office i have you to thank bc the vibes in that are immaculate and i can only hope i create half a similar atmosphere here. also i bloody love bruce springsteen. lovely xx

_**DoSAC, 11pm** _

Pretty soon into the 2010 coalition, Adam realises his job is actually pretty shit. He sort of knew this from the start, when Fergus broke the news that they'd be spending the next 5 years in DoSAC, of all fucking places. But Adam had been optimistic that maybe he'd be able to make some kind of _difference,_ something he'd be proud of telling his kids about one day. About six months down the line, it became clear that he would be making absolutely no _differences_ in his time as advisor to the Junior Minister, and anyway he certainly didn't have any kind of social life that might lead to kids to tell stories about his failed career to. _God_ he missed going out. The closest Adam got to partying these days was those awful cross-party socials, which he knew from experience were basically just for journalists to get a scoop and for Malcolm fucking Tucker to spin his way out of trouble. If he was lucky, he might get a cheeky snog outside off of some some faceless, personality-less politico who'd offered a lighter, but as soon as they'd offer to share a taxi, Adam would remember Fergus, still upstairs at the social and probably making a tit out of himself in front of people who might actually be able to save their careers, and find himself letting go of his love life once again in favour of the ginger prick. Endearing and well-meaning ginger prick, but a prick all the same.

 _The long and pissing short of it all_ , muses Adam as he wanders back from DoSAC's one functioning coffee machine, _is that the closest I get to a night out now is listening to Fergus' fucking Spotify while I make sure he meets his deadlines._ As he climbs the final flight of stairs (who puts a coffee machine in a fucking basement?), he can hear Fergus' music wafting down the corridor to meet him, and with a heavy sigh he realises it's Bruce Shitting Springsteen. He knew Fergus' music taste was a bit vintage, to say the least, but bloody hell. Through the glass walls that surrounded their office, he can see Fergus himself, rehearsing yet another speech that he really doesn't care about. He's standing up, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets to avoid the dreaded imaginary tits. Strangely though, he's moving around in some kind of jerky, bouncy fashion, like he's being gently tasered. Adam frowns for a second, wondering if this is some pisstake Hobbit tactic Phil had told him about. _Fucking hell_ , he realises, _he's fucking dancing._ Adam is tempted to stride in and start ripping the piss out of him for his awful music taste and his even worse dancing, but it's kind of sweet to watch his uptight boss (he cringes thinking about Fergus as his boss, but he never knows quite how to describe their relationship) just letting go for five minutes. The moment is swiftly shattered when Adam drops the cups of coffee he had been balancing in the doorway, and swears loudly. From inside the office, Fergus looks up and swears too, standing stock-still like a useless fucking lemon while Adam tries to salvage his quite expensive suit from the boiling black coffee. He shrugs off his jacket, groaning at the sight of the coffee that had begun to sink into his shirt. Fergus just stands there, not entirely sure where to look as Adam throws his jacket on a chair. Adam notices this, and he'd think more about the significance if there wasn't boiling hot liquid seeping into his skin. 

"Can you be fucking helpful," Adam asks, exasperated, "While you're prancing about in 1980-fucking-four I'm getting coffee all over my nice shitting suit!"

Fergus visibly panics, grabbing a box of tissues from his desk and holding them at arm's length, not quite knowing how to help. Adam rolls his eyes, softening for a moment. 

"You're allowed to touch me, Christ Fergs." 

Fergus' eyes widen, and he laughs a little bit too loudly as he steps closer to Adam. He makes some bad joke about wanting to see Adam suffer, but it lands awkwardly and he gives Adam that look, with his big eyes and his stupid worried expression. Adam's chest tightens - this isn't when he was expecting this to happen. Even admitting to himself that "this" - _what is "this"? -_ is something he's considered feels huge, but of course he's thought about it. Fergus usually has no problem touching him, and vice versa - it's why Emma and Phil spend most of their time making gay jokes about the two of them. So the fact that the moment Adam removes his jacket and speaks with a bit of fucking sincerity, Fergus won't go near him and goes all awkward tells Adam that maybe he's not the only one who's considered "this _"_. 

Fergus' playlist switches to Dancing In The Dark, and pre-empting Adam's reaction, he moves to turn it off, but Adam touches his arm - "you don't have to." Fergus doesn't move, but his shoulders relax, and Adam could swear he sees him breathe for the first time in a minute. He cracks a smile, tapping his foot despite himself, and Fergus' eyes light up - "You do fucking like my music!"

Adam rolls his eyes - "I've heard worse from you. At least it's not Barbra fucking Streisand again." He gets a proper laugh out of Fergus then, and he'd swear he'd felt nothing if it wasn't for his hand still on Fergus' arm, and the racing heartbeat that definitely didn't feel very heterosexual. He has to say something now, while there's a _moment_. It's so fucking convenient and it's late enough at night that if it all goes tits up Adam can probably convince Fergus he was dreaming. He tries to ignore the thought of what the fuck happens next, or what will happen if anyone ever finds out, and he takes a fucking massive breath.

"Fergs-"

Adam takes half a step closer to Fergus, who has almost certainly cottoned onto what this is now. And he's not run away screaming slurs, which is a start. 

"Adam?"

And then Adam is kissing Fergus, his fucking boss, in a shit office at 11pm with Bruce fucking Springsteen in the background and coffee all over his shirt, and there will almost certainly be consequences but at this moment he gives zero shits about those because this is what he's been missing out on, this is why he's left those politicos at those parties to find _him_. He almost laughs as he finds himself being pushed against the stupid see-through wall, at the madness of it all. 

Perhaps his job isn't quite as shit as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok idk what happened there bc i was planning on this being about wham! so. but hey ho hope u enjoyed xx


End file.
